be quite sure of finding M. Bradamanti."

Madame Seraphin returned the salutation, and quitted the lodge.

"What a deuce of a worry she is in about Bradamanti!" said Madame
Pipelet, when her visitor had disappeared. "I wonder what she wants with
him? And then, too, M. Bradamanti is just as anxious to avoid seeing her
before he starts for Normandy. I was dreadfully afraid she meant to
stick here till he did return home, and that would have been the more
awkward, as M. Bradamanti expects the same lady who came last night; I
could not manage to have a squint at her then, but I am determined
to-night to stare her regularly out of countenance, like I did the lady
who came on the sly to visit my five-farthing commandant. Ah, the screw!
the nipcheese! He has never ventured to show his face here since.
However, by way of teaching him better, I shall make good use of his
wood; yes, yes, my fine gentleman, it shall keep the lodge warm, as well
as air your shut-up apartments. A disappointed puppy! Ha, ha, ha! Go,
and be hanged with your paltry twelve francs a month! Better learn to
pay people honest wages, than go flaunting about in a bright green
dressing-gown, like a great lanky grasshopper! But who the plague can
this lady of M. Bradamanti's be, I wonder? Is she respectable, or
t'other? I should like to know, for I am as curious as a magpie; but
that is not my fault; I am as God made me, so I can't help it. I know
one's disposition is born with us, and so the blame does not lie at my
door. Stop a bit; I've just thought of a capital plan to find out who
this lady really is; and, what's more, I'll engage it turns out
successful. Who is that I see coming? Ah, my king of lodgers! Your
servant, M. Rodolph!" cried Madame Pipelet, saluting him, after the
military fashion, by placing the back of her left hand to her wig.

It was, in truth, Rodolph, who, as yet ignorant of the death of M.
d'Harville, approached gaily, saying:

"Good day to you, Madame Pipelet! Can you tell me if Mlle. Rigolette is
at home? I have something to say to her, if she is."

"At home, poor girl! Why, when is she ever out? When does she lose an
hour, or idle instead of working?"

"And how gets on Morel's unfortunate wife? Does she appear more
reconciled to her misfortunes?"

"Yes, M. Rodolph, I am glad to say she does; and how can she be
otherwise, when, thanks to you, or the generous friend whose agent you
are, she is supplied with every comfort, both fo